Ballet at Breakfast
by heroictype
Summary: The prince tries his hand at cooking for Rue. He should keep his day job. Very, very silly Rue/Mytho fluff.


Somehow, a conversation about pancakes led to this. I wrote it. It may be tweaked in the future, but it was just sort of written to mess around with. As the summary says, extremely silly fluff. I hope you all like pancakes that are quite corny. Either way, it was more fun than it should have been to write.

Princess Tutu and all related characters are not mine. They are Itoh Ikuko's.

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><p>Siegfried wiped away crystalline beads of sweat, thankful for the training in swordplay that kept his hand so steady as he slid the spatula under the half-cooked batter. He edged the incomplete pastry up from the pan, quiet concentration glowing softly at the back of his eyes. The golden-brown cake could have been baked through by his intensity, but of course, it was more complicated than that. A plate of what should have been pancakes rested beside the pan, a shameful display of his lacking experience with this. Most were dough or blackened mess, and none the perfection that could somehow be found in between such dismal states. This was his final chance. He must be properly careful. He must, for soon his princess would want breakfast, and he had to be ready.<p>

It had to be a poor sort of prince that left his princess hungry, after all. He refused to let himself descend to so lowly a position.

A steadying breath. The spatula twisted in his grip, carrying the pancake over neatly-

"My prince?"

"Rue!"

He gasped. His head turned from the counter to her, and his shoulders went with the motion, which naturally pulled his arms back. Not large movements; it was not as though he had been shocked by her arrival to the point of stumbling. Yet it was enough that the pancake slid to the very brink of the spatula, almost into gravity's hold. He would have lost it, if he had not moved so smoothly, an ethereal figure entirely extended into an arabesque. His arm arched as he delicately tilted his hand over the pan. The pancake fell, spinning once in the air to land with a delicious sizzle. He relaxed slowly as she wrapped her arms loosely around his neck, pressing her face close to his. He leaned his head against her.

She whispered, "I wasn't aware it was possible to dance a pas de deux with a pancake."

"It does not make a very good partner. Pancakes do not like to move with one's form, you see." He made a face. It was a face that defies most forms of description, as strange as it was on the prince's noble features. However, one might compare it to an embarrassed child caught engaged in some silliness by his kindergarten crush. Not everyone could have heard the sheepishness in his low voice. He sighed, a wispy breath. "Why did you come down here, my princess?"

Her smile was thin with teasing amusement."You were gone when I woke. When I inquired where you were, I was told that you were in the kitchen, having taken breakfast for us upon yourself this morning."

"Yes. I thought it would be a pleasant treat, if I could make something for you..." He trailed off, an apology in his voice. She withdrew, though she was certain he knew of her slight blush anyway. He needed the space, as it happened, to remove the last pancake. He deposited it gently onto a separate plate, away from the other flat forms he had ended up with. This one was rich in color and scent, its very nature an invitation to dine. Siegfried swept the plate of the counter and offered it to her with a graceful bow. "For you."

"No..." She shook her head, arching a challenging eyebrow. "Do you really think me such a cruel princess that I would leave my prince without any breakfast himself?" She snatched the plate from him, and used a convenient knife to cut the pancake in two. Steam swirled between them as she held it back out to him. "And perhaps, after breakfast, I can provide you with a more suitable dance partner?"

"If you'd like." With a small laugh and a pointed glance at the ruined pastries, he continued, "But really, I suppose my own clumsiness is to blame. It is irresponsible to blame only your partner for your own faults. Do you mind dancing with someone so clumsy, princess?"

She merely pushed the plate at him again, and when he took the other side, she pushed herself against him, as well. In answer, she gave him a soft kiss.

"Oh, I don't find you clumsy at all. And either way, we really should eat first. It would be silly to let your wonderful performance go to waste."


End file.
